Sammee Ch. 11

Things hit a new level about a month after I moved in. I came home and she had her titsack on, something surprising since I was usually greeted by her in nothing but the chastity belt. I didn't say anything, though. I had learned that she'd tell me what was up when she was ready.

She was obviously keyed up though. Beyond her normal brightness, there was a tension. Just a little jerkiness in her movement as if her nerves were firing just a little out of synch. A little shrillness in her voice and she was talking fast.

She had dinner ready, one of our "joke" dinners, fish sticks and french fries, a beer for me and a big milkshake for her. But dinner conversation was obviously stilted.

Finally, dinner done and dishes put away I turned her around and put my hands on her shoulders.

"Okay," I said, "you want to tell me what's going on."

She giggled, a nervous little sound so unlike her I started to worry.

She didn't say anything, she just reached around, doing that weird double jointed thing all women seem to learn with their first training bra, and untied the titsack.

When she let it drop I saw the two targets on the top of her tits.

"Really?" I asked, meeting her eyes.

"David," she started and then took a deep breath and started over.

"David," she said, "they're so sensitive. God, I want to try this but I'm frightened too."

"I see," I said, although that was a lie, "and what do you have in mind."

She blushed prettily and said, "I thought, well, I thought you're pretty creative."

I felt a rush of power, rare in this relationship.

"I see," I said again and stood still, thinking, liking the way she sort of squirmed in her nervousness.

I pulled out one of the dining room chairs and gestured for her to sit.

She sat.

"Lay them on the table," I said.

She shuddered and lifted them, laying them on the table. I scooted her closer so she was right against the table, those magnificent tits spreading there, her nipples darker than they used to be, and very hard on the cones of her wrinkled areolas.

I took a step back, looking.

"Stay there," I said.

I went into the bedroom and first rumaged through the dirty clothes hamper, finding yesterday's boxers. Then I went through her drawers and found a couple of silk scarves.

Back in the kitchen she hadn't moved.

She watched as I tied her left wrist with one scarf and then tied the second right at her elbow. I moved to the back of the chair and used the scarf to tie her other wrist, allowing some slack. I looped the scarf from her elbow around the other elbow and then tugged, forcing her arms back, making her back arch, pushing her tits forward a little, and tied it off.

I could smell her excitement as I moved around to the front and stopped, admiring my work so far.

It looked good.

"Are you sure?" I asked, "you can still say no."

"I'm CERTAIN," she said with conviction.

"Okay," I said, smiling, "open your mouth, we don't want the neighbors to hear screaming."

Her eyes were big and frightened but she opened her mouth. I stuffed the boxers in. There was enough material to make her cheeks bulge.

"Can you breathe all right?" I asked.

She nodded, blowing out a little gob of snot.

I moved behind her and went to her kitchen utensils rack. She had a set of what she called "spurtles," wooden implements, spoons, spatulas, and other shapes. I picked up one, a flat piece about a foot long and slightly curved on the flat side. I looked at it, measuring it with my eye, and thought it was a bit too big.

The second one was slightly shorter, maybe 10 inches, but the same shape. A handle, another six inches of flat wood about a quarter of an inch thick, slightly curved. It was surprisingly heavy, a dense wood, and very smooth.

I smiled and had a thought.

I whispered "be right back" into her ear.

In the bedroom I found another scarf, this one a bit heavier silk, bright red and quite opaque. I went into the bathroom and picked two cotton balls out of the jar in which she kept them.

Back in the kitchen I laid a cotton ball on each eyelid and used the scarf as a blindfold. I figured not being able to see it coming would add to the excitement for her.

I was obviously right. She was already sort of panting when I laid the spurtle across her right tit, covering the target. I didn't quite like the fit, though, so I lifted her tits and separated them a bit before laying them back on the table.

I laid the spurtle across her right tit again, where she had put the target, about two inches above the line of her areola. When I lifted it I saw her body tense but there was no way she could move. I put some pressure on the tool with my right hand, holding the end with my left. When she relaxed I pulled my left hand away and it struck with an audible smack. Not hard. More than a pat but less than a true slap.

She flinched as if I had hit it with a hammer.

I took my time, moved to the other side, and repeated that same motion on her left tit.

Same results.

The tit torture lasted over an hour. I made each strike a separate event. I took my time. Moving from side to side. Laying the tool where a perfectly rectangular bruise was already forming. Lifting, waiting for her to relax, and then striking, each time a little harder.

She was crying within 15 minutes and for the second half hour each separate strike would make her scream into my dirty boxers and her entire body would shudder.

Her tits were swelling and as I watched her nipples started to drip. It wasn't milk yet, it was clear and when I tasted a drop with my finger tip it tasted only faintly of milk, but it was something and it excited me.

When she was reduced to sobbing, her body shuddering, her tits swollen, the rectangular bruise very dark, I pulled the boxers out of her mouth.

"Do you want me to stop?" I asked.

"Yes, No, YES, GOD NO," she sort of wailed.

I chuckled.

"Which should it be," I asked again.

"M -m-m-m-more please," she managed.

So I stuffed the boxers back into her mouth and picked up where I left off.

It only took a dozen more strokes and I realized why she hadn't wanted me to quit.

When she came it was absolutely spectacular. She threw her head back and screamed, loud even through the muffling. I heard spattering and realized she had cum so hard it was running off of the chair under her ass. She was huffing hard to breath through her nose, blocked and swollen with her excitement.

When she started to relax I hit the other tit and the reaction was the same. Head back, screaming, more spattering on the floor.

I did that four more times before she started shaking her head, obviously desperate.

I pulled the boxers out and she gasped in, and then cried out, "no more, please baby, God, please, no more."

I touched the spurtle to her bruise lightly.

She flinched and cried, "no, please baby, no more, please, PLEEEEEEEEEASE."

I pressed a little and she threw up. No warning, just opened her mouth and her tits and the table were covered ini puke.

"Please," she gasped, shaking her head and slinging thick drool.

"Okay," I said, stroking her hair.

I undid the blindfold and pulled the cotton balls off of her eyelids.

When I untied her elbows and wrists she leaned back and crossed her arms, cradeling her breasts which were so swollen they hung like cantelopes captured in a sack of skin.

She looked up at me with red eyes and whispered, "thank you."

She looked at the table, at the mess, and back up at me.

"Will you clean this up please," she asked.

I smiled and said, "hold still."

I pulled one of the older dish towels out of the drawer, dampened it in the sink, and washed the puke off of her tits.

"Go ahead and lay down," I said, kissing her softly, "I'll clean up and be in, in a bit."

She smiled wanly, stood, a little unsteady, her arms still cradling her tits, and headed into the bedroom.

I cleaned her vomit off of the table, pushing down the temptation to taste some of it.

When I got into the bedroom she wasn't there.

I found her in the bathroom, standing in front of the vanity mirror.

She was staring at herself, at her tits, darkly bruised and very swollen. The glands had swollen and they were heavy, hanging over her arms where she still cradled them.

"Do you like them?" she asked.

"I think they're sexy," I said.

"Good," she said, smiling, "because honey, I never IMAGINED cumming like that. Jesus," and she shuddered, remembering, "the way that," and she stopped, I could see her gathering her thoughts.

She turned to face me then, moving her arms so her tits hung. And they looked dramatically different. She normally had big pillow boobs, full from just below her shoulders, sagging under their own weight. But now there was a slackness high up, and the swollen glands were heavy, pulling the skin of her breast down. Her nipple was very hard. The bruises, almost perfectly rectangular, were almost black across the rise of the cantelope size glands.

I thought she looked damn sexy.

She took a deep breath and started over.

"David, it felt like you were tearing them off. It was the purest agony I can imagine. They were on fire and freezing all at once. There were ants armed with broken glass flaying the skin," she said, winding down before taking a deep breath.

"And then there was this blast, this bolt, this sudden eruption of the purest pleasure I can imagine, wiping it away," she said, looking at me. The word "beseechingly" came to mind.

"David," she said, meeting my eyes again, "promise me you'll do that to me again."

I chuckled.

"Seriously?" I asked.

There was a flash of anger as she cradled them again.

"Yes I'm fucking serious," she said, "it's more than I imagined in my darkest fantasy."

I stepped close and kissed her.

"Well," I said, "I do live to fulfill your fantasies."

She giggled sort of weakly and touched where her nipples were dripping that clear liquid.

"Maybe it will help you get what you want too," she said, touching her finger to her tongue and sort of scowling.

"Tastes like sweat so far," she said.

"Think you can stand the pump?" I asked, genuinely concerned.

She just nodded.

I got out the pump and went into her nose with a finger to pull out a rope of mucus and ensure a good latch. Then I did the other breast. The pump was pulling that clear fluid now and I realized I wasn't far from getting the milk I wanted.